


Exercise

by abluevixen (knightofbows)



Series: | January 2016 Prompt Challenge | [10]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Break Up, M/M, Making Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6120498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightofbows/pseuds/abluevixen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek walks out. Stiles runs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exercise

When Derek threw his clothes and toiletries into a duffle bag, Stiles traded his jeans and hoodie for a t-shirt and basketball shorts. When Derek shouted about how he couldn’t live like this anymore, how he couldn’t fucking take it, Stiles slipped on a pair of running shoes and stretched his calves. When Derek grabbed his keys and slammed the door on his way out of their apartment, Stiles collected his keys as well, but didn’t slam the door as he left. He followed Derek downstairs just a few paces behind, and where Derek turned towards the parking garage and the Camaro, Stiles turned towards the sidewalk that lead to the park and connecting nature trail.

When Derek ran away from his problems—their problems—Stiles just ran.

Derek wasn’t in the apartment when Stiles came home after his several mile run. Derek also didn’t return while Stiles showered and changed and cooked dinner. Derek didn’t answer text messages of ‘where are you?’ and ‘are you safe?’ and he didn’t return Stiles’ call when he left a voicemail saying, “Hey, I’m sorry about our fight. Can we talk? I love you. Please call me back.”

Derek didn’t come home the day after their fight.

Derek didn’t come home the week after their fight.

Two weeks after the fight—and after several calls and voicemails and notes posted around the apartment—Stiles came home from class to find the apartment…not necessarily in _disarray_ , but _changed_. It wasn’t a robbery—Stiles had seen enough photographs in his dad’s files to identify it, and there wasn’t any sort of forced entry. Upon a thorough inspection, Stiles realized only Derek’s most essential items were gone. A few photos, personal effects he’d brought with him when they moved in together. Anything that was ‘theirs’ had been left. Anything that was ‘Derek’s’ had been taken.

On the breakfast bar near the bowl of fruit was a note written on a scrap of paper and the key Stiles’ recognized as Derek’s.

_I’m sorry. I’m done._

Stiles took a deep, shaky breath, spun on his heel and changed into his running clothes. Then he strapped on his sneakers, left the apartment, and ran.

He didn’t bother looking for Derek, and he didn’t try to contact him again. Derek didn’t want to talk. Derek was done. So Stiles gathered what he could spare of the things that reminded him of the life they tried to build, packed it all away, and carefully stacked the boxes in the back of a closet. He bought bedclothes Derek had never fucked him in, covered the walls with photographs absent Derek’s smile, and rearranged the living room.

He knew a breakdown was coming. The lack of closure, the sudden departure, the sheer immensity of how much he loved and missed Derek—it was a feebly built stack of cards that would eventually collapse. Stiles hoped he’d hold out until the end of the semester so he could breakdown properly and in the comfort of his childhood home; so he did what he could to keep himself busy.

When, despite running for miles a day and staying responsibly ahead in his classes, he still couldn’t sleep, he went to the gym. Lifting weights, running with resistance, _yoga_ —it all left him sore and achy, in too much pain to do much more than lay on the couch and _not move_. As a novice gym bunny, there were plenty of people who offered him tips and pointers to better put his body through its paces. There were even those who even offered to show him _privately_. He accepted what advice he could, and turned down the rest. He wasn’t interested in hooking up. All Stiles wanted to do was get enough sleep to survive school and get home.

It wasn’t until he managed to make it home with only the beginnings of fraying insanity that he even realized the effect of all of his avoidance.

“Dude, you’re ripped!”

Stiles arched his eyebrows and turned to Scott, his arms still mostly caught in his t-shirt. He wasn’t sure what to say, but he did glance at himself in the dresser mirror and—well, damn. He had abs, a nice V in his hips that led to his dick, a line defining muscle between his pecs. His biceps had thickened, an interesting line raced down his triceps, and another cut through his forearms. His legs, well, Stiles knew about his legs. The running had been doing things to his legs for a while, so the divot in the top of his calves, the swell of muscle in his thighs, the roundness of his ass—those things he was well aware of. But his chest, his arms, his abs. Those…those were new. “Huh.”

“You’ve been working out, yeah?”

With a shrug, Stiles tossed the shirt around his arms in exchange for another. “I guess, yeah. Just, you know, trying to stay busy.”

“Since Derek left?”

“Yeah…”

“He’s back here, you know,” Scott said.

Stiles tried not seem affected. “Is that so? He seem okay?”

“Won’t really talk to anyone, but yeah, he looks like he’s alright.”

“Good,” Stiles said. “That’s good.”

Scott frowned and gripped Stiles’ newly toned shoulder. “You okay?”

“Of course,” Stiles said. “It’s been months. I’m totally fine.”

He wasn’t. Stiles quickly ditched Scott for the day and went running.

With Pop Eurotrash blaring through his headphones, Stiles ran from his dad’s house all the way through town and out towards the preserve. It was the only place he could think of where he wouldn’t run into people, where friends wouldn’t ask him how he was doing, tell him how well Derek was doing. Stiles was not fine. Stiles was dying inside, but he couldn’t process the hurt enough to show it, to let it flow through him, and ultimately let it go. All he could do was run.

But as he ran along the well-beaten path, he saw a familiar black Camaro parked where the Hale house once stood, its sleek body garish through the lush greenery of the trees. When Stiles was in high school, the house was a burned out hollow shell. Now it was little more than charred foundation and weak, black walls. Still, the car was parked there. Derek’s car.

The man in question leaned against the Camaro’s hood, clad in his leather jacket with his arms folded across his chest. He looked up, however, jarred from his meditation or whatever when Stiles’ barreled through the foliage. First he seemed surprised, then his expression faded into something more resigned, more tired.

Stiles slowed to a light trot and slung his headphones around his neck before heading towards Derek. “Hey,” he said, slowing to a stop. Panting, he rested his hands on his hips, and struggled to find something to say. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, then offered what he could of a smile. “You look good,” he said, casually. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m okay,” Derek said, but he sounded worn out. He made no attempts at hiding how his eyes roved Stiles’ body, and the shudder Stiles gave was involuntary. Once upon a time, a look like that was an invitation and a challenge. Now it just made Stiles heartsick. “You look good, too. Working out? It shows.”

“Something like that, yeah,” Stiles said. The heartache he literally ran from caught up to him with a vengeance, and his eyes burned. He blinked hard and scrubbed his face as if wiping sweat from his brow. “So, um, what brought you back to Beacon Hills?”

“It’s home,” Derek said with a shrug.

The silence that stretched between them was awkward, ominous. Derek mercifully broke it when he said, “About how what happened…”

“It was a while ago,” Stiles said, dismissively. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s not fine, Stiles,” Derek growled. “It was never fine, and I’m not fine, either. I was angry, and I acted impulsively, and I…I fucked everything up. I miss you.”

“…I miss you, too,” Stiles admitted softly. “I miss you so fucking much, Derek. You just left. Just…” And he made a matching gesture with his hand. “Poof. Gone. You never even…fuck, you never even told me why.”

“I left the key in a fit of anger and regretted it the moment the door closed behind me.”

“Why didn’t you contact me? I tried to reach you for weeks.”

 “I didn’t think I deserved it.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Typical.” He sighed, and sniffled. He was sure Derek knew he was on the verge of tears, that the flush in his face was one that heralded them instead of a byproduct of his running. “Fuck, Derek. Fuck! I love you. I love you so fucking much, but I don’t know how this happened. I don’t—”

“I want to come home,” Derek said. “To you. With you. I want to go home with you.”

“I’m here on break,” Stiles said. “And even if I was willing, you fucking _vanished_.”

“And you didn’t try to find me.”

“I called you! I texted you!”

“But you didn’t _look_ for me!” Derek snapped. “I figured you were done with me.”

“I didn’t look for you because you said _you_ were done with _me!_ ”

Derek grabbed Stiles by his sweaty shirt and dragged him into a rough, messy kiss. Stiles bit and suckled at Derek’s lips, licked into his mouth and dug his fingers into Derek’s hair to hold him in place. Stiles’ skin went aflame where Derek rubbed his stubble against it—his lips, his cheek, his jaw. “I’ll never be done with you. Ever,” Derek panted, licking at the sweat dampening Stiles’ temple. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Stiles gasped. “Love you so much.”

But he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ , let Derek have this. Not just yet. No, this would be Stiles’.

So Stiles grabbed the lapels of Derek’s jacket and shoved hard enough for him to stumble back into the side of the Camaro. It surprised them both, but when Derek’s shock quickly darkened into want, Stiles obliged happily. He pressed Derek against the car by the shoulders and devoured him in another kiss, one that left Derek clinging helplessly to him and whimpering.

And when Stiles’ hands rounded Derek’s hips to grip his thighs, it took only a moment’s hesitation for Derek to cooperate. Stiles hoisted Derek up and pinned him with his hips, groaned when Derek tightened his legs around his waist.

“Well, this is a change of pace,” Derek sighed into Stiles’ open mouth. Stiles could taste his smirk.

“Like it?”

“Love it.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on tumblr: [foxtricks](http://foxtricks.tumblr.com/)


End file.
